Now she knew what she wanted. She wantedTom. She was too greedy to give him up. She wanted him and she was going to have him.
It didn’t make her feel weak, like she’d feared. It made her feel powerful. She was going to demand his respect and his love. It was non-negotiable.
Vivian circled the set-up like a predator evaluating prey. “I want a close-up on the lettering,” she said. “Get texture. I want readers to see the individual brush strokes.”
Lauren swallowed. “Is that… good?”
“Handmade means bespoke,” Sage said, raising her camera. “And bespoke is very, very in.”
Lauren almost laughed. Instead, she pressed her palms together to stop them shaking.
Sage stepped behind the camera. “Lights!”
The studio brightened.
“Okay, Lauren,” Sage called, “stand over there so I can get a few with you in the background.”
“With me?” Lauren choked.
“Yes,” Vivian said. “You’re part of the story.”
Lauren glanced down at herself and winced.
God.
Of course she was wearing dorky clothes. The soft, oatmeal sweater with the stretched-out sleeves. The faded jeans she should replace. And her work shirt…
Her eyes caught on the cuff. A smear of coral paint. Right there. From the DIVORCED AF plaque.
Heat climbed her cheeks. “Vivian, I—I’m not exactly dressed for?—”
Vivian waved a hand. “It’s an art magazine, not a fashion one. You’re perfect.”
Perfect.
In her dorky sweater.
With craft paint on her sleeve.
Sage lifted her camera, grinning. “The paint stains make it better.”
Lauren swallowed, suddenly aware of how real this was—her work, her clothes, her actual messy life—all being pulled into the spotlight.
And still, she stepped into place.
Sage lifted the camera. “Three, two?—”
Click.
Her phone buzzed again.
Tom.
Not an emoji this time. His name lighting up her screen, steady and real.
She hesitated only a second before answering.
“Hi,” she said, softer than she meant to.
